And even as Gillian had known right away what she had to do, she’d also known that it likely wouldn’t be enough, that for most of these kids it would never be enough—a knowledge that was only confirmed when she saw the shivering rib slats of those dogs, the pearlescent underbelly of that deer hide, the hunting jacket dipped in blood. The way Tricia lit her cigarette on the stove coil, her face so close to all that bright, hard heat.
